


Life Goes On

by enkelimagnus



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Ollie (Shadowhunters TV) - Mention, Post-Canon, Pre "One Year Later"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-08-13 16:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkelimagnus/pseuds/enkelimagnus
Summary: After the Angels' punishment, Clary Fray struggles with the hole in her memory. Good thing she seems to have some sort of Guardian Angel...





	Life Goes On

Clary tossed and turned. As they did every night, the sheets on her bed felt suffocating. She couldn’t fall asleep. No matter what she did, she never seemed to be able to fall asleep peacefully. 

It haunted her. 

The giant hole in her head, the giant hole in her life. It had been five months since she’d woken up, in the middle of a park, in the middle of the night, wearing only a formal dress in the early November cold. 

She stood up. There was no use in trying more right now. She turned on the small light on her desk and looked over her recent sketches. Nothing new. A silhouette, a shadow, and the colors of a scene she was supposed to know that blurred into nothingness in front of her eyes. 

She took a hair tie and put her hair up, then sat down at the desk. As always, the vibration of the memories she couldn’t grasp pushed her fingers to prepare her watercolors, and she started painting something. 

A white oval, darkness surrounding it, the opalescent blue of some sort of water that was not quite normal. A struggle, a pain, something terrifying, something Clary needed to stop.  _ Isa...bell...a.  _ She sketched until her hand cramped, and then she stood up. 

She opened the door of her closet. On the inside, she’d stuck post-its, all the things she remembered. This time, she took a new post-it, and wrote  _ Isabella _ , onto it. It meant nothing to her, but maybe she could find something, or maybe her PI could find something. 

She’d hired the man with some of the money her mom had left her, in that very very full bank account that Clary only learned about in the weeks following her awakening. Everyone had been entirely confounded. Jocelyn’s death, Clary’s disappearance and then, months later, Luke’s disappearance in the 48 hours preceding Clary’s return. 

She’d spent hours in the police station, answering questions she had no answer to. The last thing she remembered was being outside of the Pandemonium Club, with Simon and Maureen. Then she’d “woken up” in that park, with a hair cut, her body much fitter than it had previously been. And Simon had been dead, Maureen had moved across the country, and she’d been completely and utterly alone. 

Clary closed the door of her closet and sighed, going back to her desk. She put the sketch to the side and took out the craft envelope that held whatever the PI had found for her. She’d already looked at these so many times. 

A sighting of a red-haired girl that looked like her at the precinct on August 29th. Clary Fray signing into one of the drawing studios at the Brooklyn Academy of Art on September 7th, then leaving after a couple of hours. Then nothing for about a month until a concert in a bar called the Hunter’s Moon, that Clary hadn’t been able to find anywhere. The instagram post had shown someone that looked like her chatting with someone that looked like Simon and a beautiful black girl. A week later, she was at a restaurant with Simon, the black girl and a blonde man. And then she was at a club with a dark-haired woman and the blonde man. 

There was a picture of someone who looked like her in Paris too. She would have remembered going to Paris. But she didn’t remember Paris, or concerts with Simon, or anything else. 

She sighed. She wished there was a way to pry open the wall that kept her from remembering. She wished there was a way for her to move on from this, but she couldn’t. Her entire being was spiralling out of control, unable to grasp what had happened in between March 23rd and November 7th. 

She’d tried so hard to put it behind her. But how could she when it haunted her to the point of insomnia? When all she could create was the remnants of a life she couldn’t remember. She remembered her latest big piece, and the amount of bitter joy that had wrapped all around the colors. She couldn’t remember why those colors in that pattern made her feel like this. She didn’t know why she’d titled it  _ Wedding _ , either. 

Clary put down the papers and stood up. She walked to her small couch, grabbed her blanket and lied down. She just wanted to be able to sleep. And she did. She managed to rest for a couple of hours before her alarm rang and she had to get ready for school. 

She thought about Isabella, the drawing and the hole during the entire day, walking through her classes and studio time like a zombie. Few people talked to her, they looked at her, maybe, but they didn’t talk to her. She was too strange, too depressed maybe. Maybe they could see how lost she was. 

She walked out of the Brooklyn Academy of Art this evening and she grabbed her phone. She was supposed to get a report from her PI but she had no texts nor emails. That was weird. Maybe she could just go and see him. 

Clary walked through the streets of Brooklyn towards the tall building where the man lived. As she walked, she violently bumped into someone that was walking in the other direction, a tall man with weird tattoos. What a douche, she thought. The least you could do when you walked was be careful you didn’t bump into people. 

Clary rang the bell down the PI’s building, but no one answered. She frowned. She managed to get into the building through a neighbour and walked up the stairs to the second floor. 

The door of the PI’s office was open. She walked towards it and pushed it open gently. The first thing that hit her was the smell. It smelled like sulfur, like acid, like something was burning. Her mind brought forward blurry images of red sand, but they left her immediately. 

Clary blinked and took a step forward. Her boot got stuck with a strange black goo. Bile rose in her throat but she managed to keep it down and the nausea disappeared. She walked further into the office. 

The goo trail was replaced by a blood one. She knew what had happened before she saw the body. The man wasn’t recognizable. That time, she couldn’t keep herself from puking. She coughed and vomited out her lunch. Her eyes stung with both the acid thing that seemed to have permeated the air and the effort of puking. 

_ Her knife perforated the man’s stomach. She could feel her own rage controlling her actions, and she knew she was perfectly consenting. Jubilation rose inside of her as she saw life escape him. She stabbed him again. She could feel his blood warm on her blade and on her fingers.  _

Clary fell to her feet next to the puddle of blood. A headache was stabbing into her head and she blinked away tears of pain. When her eyes finally focused, she was able to read the words inscribed in blood on the wall. 

“He was not a good PI. You should hire Olivia Wilson. - A” Followed by a phone number.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


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